


The Flight From Dol Guldur

by Uvatha_the_Horseman



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uvatha_the_Horseman/pseuds/Uvatha_the_Horseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron flees Dol Guldur and returns to Mordor after Gandalf exposes his identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - The Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf enters Dol Guldur and uncovers Sauron's identity. Khamul is blamed for letting him get in.

Chapter 1 - The Spy  
Dol Guldur, TA 2851

Collapse

“I think I can find it. I’ll be right back.” Khamûl said to his Master. He slipped through the door and hurried down the corridor.

But a few minutes later, he got an urgent summons to return. He retraced his steps at a dead run, but pulled up short in front of a heap of debris blocking the corridor. The ceiling of the corridor had collapsed. The stone dust made him cough. 

A terrible thought struck him. Had the Council Chamber collapsed as well? 

“My Lord! Are you all right? Adûnaphel? Uvatha?” 

He listened, but there was no answer. He was sick with fear, until he heard muffled shouting and banging on the other side of the obstruction. He considered what to do next. 

The rubble was shoulder high. There was enough space on top to crawl through, but the ceiling was unstable. Heavy blocks could fall at any time. He scrambled over the broken stones as quickly as possible, clearing the dangerous area without incident. 

The doors of the Council Chamber were pinned shut by debris, trapping his Master and the others inside.

“I’m going to dig you out. Just give me a minute to organize the laborers.” said Khamûl.

“No. Catch the spy.” shouted Sauron.

It went against his every instinct to abandon his Master, but Khamûl obeyed him. He ran to the guards’ post and sent bands of orcs fanning out down the hillside in pursuit of the Grey Wizard.

 

Negligence

“You walked right by him. He was standing behind the door. You didn’t see him?”

“I didn’t look.”

“You didn’t sense his presence?”

Khamûl tried to remember.

“I did, but I was in a hurry and didn’t slow down to look. I thought there was no one here but us, so I thought I was imagining things.”

His Master turned away, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“How did he get in?”

The moment his Master asked the question, Khamûl knew what had happened, and he knew that it was his fault. The East Portal. That’s how the spy got in last time, as far as they could tell. Sauron feared the Valar were about to attack, and fled the same day. 

Sauron returned four hundred years later. When they reoccupied the fortress, Khamûl should have posted a guard to watch the hidden exit, or at least secured it with a lock or bar. But the invasion was ancient history by then, and he simply forgot. 

“I forgot to secure the portal. He got in the same way he did the first time.” 

“You forgot.”

Sauron backhanded him across the face. That had never happened before. Khamûl put his hand to his cheek, gasping. Sauron motioned two men-at-arms to come over.

“Take him down to the cells.”

 

Arrested

Khamûl allowed himself to be led to the dungeons. The stone steps were narrow and slippery with algae. He smelled damp, black mold, and worse, urine. He could have overpowered his guards easily, but he submitted to his Master’s orders. A jailor showed him to a tiny cell. Khamûl stepped in, and the door was locked behind him.

Now that his Master’s identity had been exposed, the Valar might attack him here. Khamûl knew his Master wasn’t strong enough to defend himself. Khamûl also knew that Sauron feared capture by the Valar more than he feared anything else. 

Khamûl was sick with self-reproach. No matter what his Master decided to do to him, he would submit to it without a word of complaint. 

Sometime later, his Master came down to the cells and confronted him through the bars.

“Give me your ring.”

Khamûl would have liked to refuse, but he pulled it off his hand. It slipped off easily. Normally, he would have had to struggle to get it past his knuckle. Reluctantly, he handed it through the bars.

Without it, the connection was broken, the song fell silent. His hand touched his Master’s for a moment, but without his ring, he couldn’t read his Master’s thoughts.

Without his ring, Khamûl was mortal. He was no longer a Nazgûl, immune from death. He was aware that he might die of old age in this cell before he was released. He stood in the cell, too agitated to sit down. 

He had other worries. They must be having emergency strategy sessions to decide their next move. Khamûl was a master tactician. He should be there. He was worried about his Master’s safety. He wanted to help.

There was something else. The last time a spy got in, they abandoned Dol Guldur the same day. They might already had left. Khamûl feared he’d be left behind, forgotten in this cell. 

He asked the jailor to take a message to his Master, apologizing for what happened and accepting responsibility for it. The jailor went upstairs to deliver it. He was still waiting for an answer.

After pacing for hours, he lay on the stone floor of the cell. In the evening, a jailor brought a tray, but he left it untouched. 

 

Brought to the Scaffold

He spent a restless night. Midmorning, he heard a key turn in the lock. When the cell door opened, he lifted his head from the floor. 

“You’re wanted upstairs.” 

“Why?”

“He wants to make an example of you, to let people know what happens to those who neglect their duty.”

Whatever happens, just accept it. He drew a deep breath, and held it, and let it out.

Khamûl walked between two guards, his eyes on the floor. They brought him out into the courtyard, which was mobbed with people. The crowd fell silent when Khamûl appeared. He was aware that all eyes were on him. He didn’t like that. As a ranger, he preferred to be the one doing the watching 

The crowed parted to make a path for them to walk to a low scaffold which, he was sure, wasn’t there yesterday. The smell of new wood reached him from a distance. 

He kept his eyes on the ground and focused on the gravel and blades of grass at his feet, to avoid looking at the scaffold. He didn’t want to see the gallows, or the men who had just been hanged on them. He didn’t think that he was going to be hanged. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

His Master was standing on the scaffold. Khamûl couldn’t see his face behind the steel mask, but he didn’t need to. He could read his mood from the way he carried himself, and right now, his Master was as pitiless as a stone. He held a rod in one hand, which he slapped against his palm. 

At a word from his Master, Khamûl mounted the scaffold. 

“Do you have anything to say?” his Master asked him.

Khamûl fought the impulse to explain why it wasn’t his fault, and to remind his Master of his long and faithful service. If he made excuses, Sauron would have had him hanged. Khamûl lowered his eyes.

“I submit to whatever sentence you choose for me, and humbly beg pardon for my faults.” said Khamûl.

Adûnaphel and Uvatha stood near the wall. Uvatha was holding her by the arms while she fought to shake him loose. Khamûl met her eyes across the courtyard. He thought she was sending him a message, but since he wasn’t wearing a ring, he couldn’t hear her.

“Take off your mantle.”

With shaking hands, Khamûl undid the clasp at the throat and handed it to one of the guards. He started to undo the fasteners of his shirt, but stopped when his Master pushed his hand away with tip of the rod.

“Turn around.” 

He did, and looked out on the sea of people filling the courtyard. 

“Stand perfectly still with your hands at your sides. Don’t move unless I tell you.”

Sauron paced back and forth behind him, slapping the rod into the palm of his hand. Startled, Khamûl flinched at the sound. 

“Your negligence allowed a spy to get into the fortress.” 

There was a whistling sound, and a blow. Tears sprang into his eyes. 

“Do you have any idea what that means? You’ve endangered all our lives.”

A second blow.

“Now the Valar know I’m here. They could attack this place at any moment.”

A third. 

He lost count at twenty. They kept coming. A particularly hard one made him lose his balance and fall hard on his knees. He caught himself on the palms of his hands, which stung from getting scraped on the splintery planks. 

He knelt there, frozen. He didn’t know if he was supposed to get up. He didn’t know if he could.

At a word from his Master, strong men grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He kept his head down and didn’t look at anyone. 

“Take him to his room.”

He’d expected to be taken back down to the cells. It was over. He sagged with relief.

 

Recovering

The guards didn’t know where his room was, so Adûnaphel went along to show them. 

After they left, Adûnaphel loosened his clothes and helped him to lie facedown on the bed. 

“Let’s have a look at the damage.” 

She lifted his shirt and pulled the waistband of his leggings down over his hips.

“There’s no blood. The skin’s not broken, so you won’t have stripes, but your entire back is blue and purple. You have a few blows across the kidneys, so you might piss blood for a day or two. Let me take your boots off. And do you want help getting out of your clothes?”

She left the room for a few minutes, and came back with a small phial of black liquid. 

“Poppy syrup. It should knock you out until morning.”

He held his breath and choked down the bitter draught. Adûnaphel got up to leave, and pulled the door shut behind her. Khamûl didn’t hear the bolt shot home. He wasn’t locked in. He heard voices in the hall.

“I thought he was going to be executed.” said Uvatha. Khamûl hadn’t known he was there.

“I didn’t. Sauron needs him, and his loyalty is beyond question.” said Adûnaphel.

That’s how she remembers it now, but I saw Uvatha trying to restrain her.

 

Forgiven

Khamûl lay face down, sleeping fitfully. His whole body ached, even the backs of his arms. If he attended Council meetings tomorrow, he would have to do it standing.

He didn’t open his eyes when he heard the door open. He didn’t have to. Wood smoke, fresh turned earth, and something metallic. Iron, maybe. Footsteps entered the room and stopped beside the bed. Khamûl held his breath.

A hand touched his hair, and he heard a whispered blessing. There was a metallic clink as something was set down on the small table beside the bed. A moment later, the door close softly.

Khamûl opened his eyes. His ring was sitting on the table. He reached for it and put it on.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Loss of Tol Sirion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron beat Khamul to avoid having to demote him.

Chapter 2 - The Loss of Tol Sirion  
Angband, middle of the First Age

 

Not Demoted

Khamûl woke up stiff and barely able to move. He thought about staying in bed all day, but when he received a summons to the Council Chamber, he crawled out of bed and asked a servant to help him dress.

He walked to the Council Chamber, one hand on the wall for support. He was thinking about the meeting. If we stand and fight, how can we fight the Valar? If we flee, do we go to Mordor or somewhere else?

Adûnaphel and Uvatha were already there, in their usual places. Khamûl started toward his place at Sauron’s right hand, but hesitated. He had almost certainly been demoted and stripped of his titles, Lieutenant of Dol Guldur, second Chief of the Nazgûl, Shadow of the East, …

Sauron was the last to arrive. He sat down and sorted through a stack of papers. They waited until he finished.

“Khamûl, take your place, please.” He touched the empty chair on his right, Khamûl’s usual place.

“I thought you demoted him.” said Uvatha.

“No, he’s not demoted.”

Khamûl took his seat. Which is to say, he stood behind his usual chair, his arms crossed over the back. He didn’t feel up to sitting just yet.

Uvatha looked at Khamûl, teasing.

“So what’s it like to be thrashed in public?” 

“It totally sucks.” said Sauron, his eyes on the papers in front of him. 

They looked up at him. 

“When I lost Tol Sirion, I had to go back to Angband and tell Melkor. Let’s just say he wasn’t pleased with me.”

“What happened?” asked Uvatha.

“He said he was going to make an example of me, so he was going to bust me in rank. But I’d worked hard to become his second-in-command, and I didn’t want to give it up. 

“I told him, if he was going to make an example of me, do it in public and make it something that involved pain. How bad could it be? I’m stoic about pain, and I figured it would be over in a minute or two.

“After we talked, it occurred to me, we hadn’t discussed what he would do to me. I hoped he wouldn’t put me on the rack or brand my face, but we’d already sealed the deal, so I just had to trust him.

“I was frightened when they brought me down to the audience hall, where the whole of Melkor’s Court was assembled to witness punishment. But when they led me in, all I saw was the frame we used as a whipping post. I was so relieved, I almost laughed out loud.” said Sauron.

“So it was no big deal?”

“That’s what I told myself. I wasn’t going to cry out, and I would walk out of there as steady as I walked in. 

“And?”

“It still sucked.”

You had a choice. I didn’t. thought Khamûl. 

Sauron reached over to Khamûl and touched his hand. 

 

You’re Not Alone

After the meeting adjourned, Khamûl, Adûnaphel, and Uvatha stood in the hall discussing their Master. 

“Khamûl, I wouldn’t necessarily believe that story. You know his habit of taking the truth and improving it.” Adûnaphel said.

“That’s right. It’s something he does. He has to be the best at everything, even if it’s bad.” said Uvatha.

They were both right, and they were both wrong.

During the meeting, his Master touched his hand. For those few seconds, Khamûl was inside his Master’s head, seeing what he saw.

Finally it was over. Hiccoughing sobs left snot on his upper lip.

Someone stepped forward and cut the leather thongs that bound his wrists to the frame. He collapsed and he slid to the floor. The paving stones were cold against his bare skin. If anyone wants me to get up, tell them I died.

After a while, he became aware that someone was standing over him. The soft wool of a cloak was draped over his body, shielding him from the eyes of the Court. 

“I think he was telling the truth.” said Khamûl.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Perimeter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riding on patrol, Khamul's horse falls on him and shatters his leg.

Chapter 3 - The Perimeter  
Dol Guldur, TA 2912

 

Injured

After the spy got into Dol Guldur and their Master’s identity was exposed, the fortress went on a heightened state of alert. Sauron prepared for an attack that might come at any moment. 

Additional enchantments were cast to protect the fortress. Patrols of the perimeter were doubled. Khamûl, who had walked right past the intruder and failed to see him, was trying to redeem himself. He rode as many perimeter patrols as anyone. 

Khamûl rode his assigned patrol during the night, and volunteered for a second one during the afternoon. He was so tired he was getting clumsy, but he felt driven to keep going.

He kicked Mesh to a gallop as they entered an area of the forest know as the shale slopes. Khamûl was so tired he was getting clumsy, but he felt driven, and kept going.

Then a shelf of rock gave way, and Mesh, normally surefooted, went down hard. Khamûl heard a snap like a tree limb breaking beneath him. He wondered what they’d fallen on. 

Khamûl normally would have been thrown clear, but his foot must have caught in the stirrup, because his leg was trapped beneath Mesh. 

I don’t feel anything yet, but when I do, it’s going to be really bad.

Mesh struggled to get up. The slope was steep, and his feet were higher than his back. Each time he twisted his body and flailed, Khamûl screamed. Finally, Mesh got to his feet, apparently unhurt. He wandered off and began grazing, the reins trailing on the ground behind him. 

Khamûl was soaked in sweat. He lifted his head to survey the damage. His leg had a new bend at mid-thigh. He looked away quickly, but it wasn’t enough. His stomach heaved. He clamped his jaws shut, trying not to be sick, but just made it go out his nose instead.

He considered his situation. It was mid-afternoon. He wouldn’t be missed until evening. By then it would be getting dark. Not only would it be harder to search in the dark, but nights could be cold in the mountains. His best bet was for Mesh to return to the stable riderless. Then they’d begin searching for him right away. 

Mesh wandered aimlessly, seeking green shoots of grass. Much as he regretted doing so, Khamûl picked up some small stones and lobbed them at the grazing horse, ten or fifteen feet away. Most of the pebbles missed, but finally one struck his haunches. At the same time, he yelled. 

Mesh took off at a gallop, and hopefully wouldn’t stop to graze along the way. He wished he could fix the reins so they weren’t dragging, but it couldn’t be helped. Now all Khamûl could do was wait.

Time went by. Then, inside his head, he heard a voice. 

Where are you? 

Mesh had come back riderless, and now they were looking for him. He answered in the same way. 

South of Dol Guldur, on the shale slopes. 

He didn’t have to say he was hurt, his Master would know.

 

Found

Soon after, he heard a Nazgûl’s call in the distance. He answered it, and a few minutes later, Uvatha rode up to him. He dismounted and knelt beside him.

“I’m going to leave you alone while I get some men with a stretcher. Can you hold on until then?”

Khamûl nodded. Uvatha covered him with his own cloak and rode off in the direction of the fortress.

He came back with the medic and a couple of men carrying a stretcher.

The medic lifted the cloak Uvatha had thrown over him, and felt up and down the length of his leg. The man was gentle, but even so, it took everything he had not to scream.

It felt like they’d been walking over the uneven ground forever when Khamûl finally heard the sound of the wooden drawbridge beneath the boots of the men carrying his stretcher. The arch of the main gate blocked out the sky, then he was looking up into the teeth of the portcullis which had been raised to admit them.

 

First Aid

Gravel crunched underfoot as they entered the courtyard. He heard the medic tell the men to set the stretcher on the ground. 

Footsteps approached, then stopped beside him. 

“How bad is it?” his Master asked.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. His clothes feel sticky with it, and I could feel the broken end of the bone sticking out through the skin … Get down. Put your head between your knees.”

I’m glad I didn’t look, though Khamûl.

They were joined by the chief armorer. Like blacksmiths everywhere, he was often called in to set bones. He and the medic retreated to a private corner. They kept their voices low, but Khamûl could still hear them.

“If I set the bone and it heals well, he’ll still have one leg shorter than the other. He’ll be a cripple.” said the armorer.

“There’s another issue. If that wound gets infected, the leg will have to come off.” said the medic.

“Is that likely to happen?”

“He’s undead. They heal slowly, and are more prone to infection.” said the medic. “There’s another thing. If I take off the leg after it gets infected, it might be too late to save his life.”

“Do you want me to try and set it, or will you just go ahead and amputate?” asked the armorer.

“The light’s still good. Let’s examine him one last time before we commit to surgery.” 

The two men walked toward him in silence and knelt beside the stretcher. One of them produced a pair of scissors and cut his leggings away from the protruding bone. He felt cold air against his skin as they lifted the last of the fabric away. 

Someone else slit the leather of his boot and eased it off his foot. Khamûl was sorry. They were good boots, and he liked them. 

He had another thought. “Is Mesh all right?”

“He’s fine. But you have bigger worries right now. Just try to lie still.” said the medic.

“Has anyone given him poppy syrup?” asked his Master.

“I looked for the vial, but it was empty. It should have been half full, but poppy syrup often goes missing, even from a locked cabinet.” said the medic.

“Get him something to bite, then.”

A stick with a strip of leather wrapped around it was held in front of his face. He leaned forward and bit it.

At a signal from the medic, the men who’d carried the stretcher held him down. His Master knelt beside him and held his hand. The medic felt along the length of his leg, pressing hard. 

At some point, bone scraped against bone. Khamûl screamed. He clamped his Master’s hand like a vise. Sauron’s eyes went as wide as saucers, and he said a word Khamûl didn’t even think he knew.

 

The Rack

When the medic finished his examination, he and the armorer stepped away to discuss their options. Sauron joined them. Khamûl lay with his eyes closed, too spent to try to eavesdrop. The discussion was heated and went on for some time.

“We’re going to do it my way.” he heard his Master say. And with that, the discussion was over.

The three walked back and stopped beside the stretcher. His Master knelt beside him.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to set the bone. When it heals, it will be the same length as your other leg, so you won’t have a limp. The catch is, it’s going to hurt very badly for a few minutes. Can you handle it?”

Khamûl nodded.

Khamûl knew that Sauron asking Khamûl’s permission was a fiction. If he’d refused, it wouldn’t have made any difference.

“Good.” Sauron said. Then to the others, “Take him to the dungeons, to the chamber where we question prisoners.”

“What?” Khamûl was alarmed.

“I’m going to put you put on the rack” said his Master.

“WHAT?”

“It’s an experiment. Humor me.” 

Khamûl couldn’t image being put on the rack under any circumstances. To have it done on a shattered leg was unthinkable. He had an impulse to run away and started to sit up. Sauron gripped his shoulder and pushed him down. 

“Don’t worry. It will be fine.”

Khamûl didn’t doubt his Master’s good intentions, but he also thought his Master could be an idiot at times. Khamûl was pretty sure this was one of those times.

“I heard that.” said his Master.

The men lifted the stretcher and carried him down to the dungeons. As they descended the spiral stairs, the smell of damp got stronger. He guessed they were passing the cells based on the aroma of body odor and unemptied chamber pots.

But when they drew near the interrogation chamber, it got worse. His nostrils were filled with the odor of vomit and excrement, the smells of fear, of horror.

From the stretcher, he could only see the ceiling, but he felt sure the room contained apparatus he didn’t want to know about. They set him down on the floor, next to study wooden legs supporting a long platform. He guessed it was the rack. 

Uvatha joined them, accompanied by two orcs Khamûl hadn’t seen before. 

“They know how to work the equipment.” Uvatha explained.

Uvatha, their fastest horseman, was used primarily as a messenger. But as the most vicious Nazgûl, he had some additional duties Khamûl would rather not know about.

“I don’t want to lay him on the bare wood. The bed of the rack has splinters, and it’s not very clean. And what’s that stain?” his Master asked.

“Hard to say. Anything that can be expelled from the body, usually is.” said one of the orcs.

“Someone get a sleeping mat from the guard room. I want him to be comfortable.” his Master said.

An orc returned a few minutes later with a thin mat. He laid it on the bed of the rack. The men lifted the stretcher and transferred Khamûl as carefully as they could. He bit his lip and tried not to cry out. 

The orcs positioned themselves at Khamûl’s head and feet. One lifted Khamûl’s arms above his head and fastened cuffs around his wrists. The other pulled Khamûl’s other boot off, and fastened cuffs around his ankles. The straps on the cuffs were tightened to remove the last of the slack, but not enough to hurt.

A leather belt was wrapped around his chest just under his arms, another around his hips. Khamûl couldn’t move. Someone put a pillow under his head.

“Are you comfortable?” his Master asked him.

“I’m cold.” Khamûl said. Someone draped a blanket over him. 

“Places, everyone.” said his Master.

The armorer stood beside his leg, one hand on either side of the fracture. The orcs stood at the capstan levers that operated the rack.

“On my mark.”

The capstan turned slightly, and the ratchet clicked a few times. The straps tightened enough to hurt. 

“Go.” 

At that moment, his Master slapped him across the face. Khamûl looked at him in dismay. He realized a moment later that his body had been stretched tight as a bowstring, and that the scream echoing in his ears was his own. He felt nothing at first, and then the pain hit him. He closed his eyes and waited to pass out. 

But at least it was over. All that remained was to splint the leg and bandage the wound. 

 

Amputation

Khamûl felt splints laid along either side of his leg. The armorer began wrapping bandages around his ankle, working upward. But before he finished, he paused.

“This isn’t going to work. The bones set well, but the moment we release the tension, the muscle spasm will shorten his leg by two or three inches. You can’t stretch him on the rack for weeks and weeks.”

“That leaves us with just one option. I’m sorry, Khamûl, I don’t know how to do it without hurting you.” 

Sauron pushed the armorer aside and took over. He pressed his hand against the wound and began to sing quietly. The injury began to sting a little, then to burn pretty badly. Khamûl tried to twist away, but he couldn’t move.

“Please stop.”

He tried to push his Master’s hands away, but his wrists were bound. The pain got worse. The bone felt like it was being crushed with pliers. The only thing that could hurt this much was …

“No! Don’t take off my leg!” 

Sauron didn’t acknowledge him, or stop what he was doing. His song didn’t falter. 

Khamûl fought like a wild animal. He tried to twist free, but the straps across his body wouldn’t yield. Strong men seized his limbs and held him down. He cursed his Master, tried to bite him, and threatened him with bodily harm.

Sauron interrupted his song and placed a hand over Khamûl’s eyes. Khamûl heard him whisper the words of a sleep spell. 

Khamûl felt the strength drain from his limbs. He fought against it, but .. “

When he woke up, he didn’t know where he was. He saw a vaulted ceiling, bright with torchlight. People with concerned faces leaned over him. He couldn’t move.

“Release him.” 

He heard a click, and the capstan spun. The tension in his limbs vanished. Orcs stepped forward to unfasten the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Someone else unbuckled the straps around his body.

 

Curse You

Khamûl looked away. He wouldn’t have minded if the bone healed short and left him a cripple, the choice should have been his.

Sauron started to touch his shoulder.

“Get your hands off me, you filth. ” 

“What?”

“How could you? I trusted you.” He was sobbing. “Why did you take off my leg?”

He shouldn’t be surprised. His Master had a habit of making decisions about Khamûl’s welfare without consulting him first.

Sauron walked around to the end of the rack. Khamûl felt a fingernail trace a line up the sole of his foot.

“I didn’t.” he said.

Khamûl heard the words, but it took him a moment to understand their meaning. He raised himself on his elbows to look. It was still there. Then, with horror, he remembered the words he’d said to his Master. He started to apologize.

“I most humbly .. “

“It is forgotten. Let’s see if you can walk.” said his Master. 

Khamûl shot him an evil look. He expected to be bedridden for months.

Someone helped him sit up. He looked at his leg. There was a jagged white scar on his thigh, but as far as he could tell, the bone was completely healed. His leggings were in shreds and his underclothes were visible. His face burned. 

“You must be on the mend, if that’s all you’re worried about.” his Master said. 

Khamûl scowled. He didn’t like to be teased.

He swung his legs over the side of the platform. He put one foot on the floor, then the other. Both legs were the same length. With someone supporting him on each side, he let go of the platform and took a shaky step.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Attack on Dol Guldur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Council attacks Dol Guldur and drives Sauron out. He escapes with the clothes on his back.

Chapter 4 - The Attack on Dol Guldur  
Dol Guldur, TA 2941

 

The Alarm

Khamûl looked up when the messenger entered the room.

“You’re wanted in the Council Chamber, immediately.”

Khamûl wondered what he’d done, but he made an effort to control his anxiety. As the Lieutenant of Dol Guldur, he was responsible for the fortress and everything in it. Most likely, the summons concerned ordinary fortress business. He’d know more when he got there.

When he entered the Council Chamber, Adûnaphel and Uvatha were in their usual places. Sauron was seated at the head of the table. He was wearing a chain around his neck Khamûl hadn’t seen before. After a moment, he looked up and acknowledged Khamûl with a nod. 

“I received a report the White Council is meeting in Lothlorian. As far as I know, this is the first time they’ve met since they learned who I was, ninety years ago. I thought they would attack us then, but they didn’t. 

“I don’t know why they’re meeting today, but I can guess. I began searching the Anduin for two years ago. Perhaps they think they can stop me. If they decide to attack, it will happen soon.” said Sauron.

“What did you decide to do? Stay or go?” asked Adûnaphel. 

“It depends on the strength of the attacking force. It could go either way.” said Sauron.

“If we left here, where would we go?” asked Uvatha.

“Mordor. I was planning to go return anyway, just not this soon. The problem is, if I return to Mordor now, I have no way to defend myself against the armies of Gondor. If I did return, it would have to be in absolute secrecy.”

“And if I stay here and fight, I need reinforcements. Uvatha, take a message to Minas Morgul. Tell the Witch King to join us here as soon here as he can.”

Uvatha was on his feet before their Master finished speaking. He paused in the doorway and bowed slightly, than took off running in the direction of the stables.

 

Sighting The Enemy

Khamûl had just returned from riding a patrol. Before changing out of his ranger’s clothes, he climbed to the top of the curtain wall to speak with one of the lookout stationed there. 

The lookout was telling him there was nothing to report, but froze in mid-sentence. Khamûl followed his gaze over the battlements, and saw a cloud of dust on the road leading from the village. 

Khamûl sent the lookout to ring the alarm bells. At the same time, he conjured up dark clouds to block the sun. Bright sunlight wasn’t good for Orcs. It left them weak and confused. 

Soldiers dropped heavy beams into brackets to reinforce the gates. The portcullis was lowered and locked. The ratchet clicked as the drawbridge was raised. Horns sounded the call to battle. Orcs came pouring out of barracks and guard shacks, taking the positions they’d drilled ever since they went on high alert. 

 

The Attack

Sauron joined Khamûl on the wall. By this time, the attackers were so close, their faces were clearly visible. Khamûl counted twelve or fourteen wizards and lords of Elves, lightly armed.

Khamûl looked down at them with scorn, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw his Master stiffen.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“We can hold them off.”

“No, we can’t. Let’s meet by the stables in five minutes, and ride out the back gate.”

Khamûl’s mouth went dry. He underestimated them. If his Master couldn’t hold them off, they were more powerful than he knew. He ordered the archers to fire a volley at the attackers, but winds from a sudden squall blew the arrows off target and whipped Khamûl’s hair into his eyes, making it hard to see.

A crack of thunder made him jump. That was way too close. Bolt after bolt of lightning made the air crackle. The air smelled metallic, like sparks. Lightning struck a tower, and a hail of stones rained into the courtyard. 

Khamûl was almost blinded when a white flash explode against the main gate. He was already running down the stairs when a second explosion hit the gate. He heard several more in quick succession as he raced across the courtyard.

He saw Adûnaphel by the stables, giving orders to have the horses saddled. 

“I changed into traveling clothes, but I didn’t bother to pack.” she told him.

He was still wearing the clothes he’d worn on patrol that morning, so he was ready to go. He’d given up any thought of packing.

The explosions terrified the horses. Their whinnying could be heard across the courtyard. Khamûl hoped it would still be possible to saddle them. 

 

Get Out Now

Another explosion, even louder than before, opened a small hole between the heavy planks. The front gate was starting to disintegrate. It was time to go.

Khamûl ran into a tower and took the stairs two at a time. He leaned into the doorway of his Master’s room. Sauron had already changed into traveling clothes and was shoving things into a satchel.

“You don’t have time to pack. Let’s go.” said Khamûl.

Sauron appeared to be looking for something.

“We have to go NOW.” 

For once, his Master obeyed him. Khamûl was prepared to seize him by the arm and drag him out of there, but before he did, Sauron dropped the satchel and moved toward the door on his own. 

They took off running down the stairs and burst into the courtyard, where Adûnaphel was waiting by the back gate with the horses.

“I looked out the back gate, and the way is clear.” she said.

The back gate faced north and couldn’t be seen from the main road. It stood ajar. A soldier stood ready to throw it open for them. Adûnaphel was already mounted. Khamûl waited while his Master climbed into the saddle and collected the reins.

Khamûl swung into the saddle and kicked Mesh into a gallop. He didn’t have time to put his feet in the stirrups. They swung wildly against the horse’s sides. 

“Let’s go!”

The soldier threw open the back gate. They burst through it and careened down the steep path over the bare rock of the hill as fast as their horses could go.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Road South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron, Khamul, and Adunaphel meet the Witch King and Uvatha on the road to Mordor.

Chapter 5 - The Road South  
The Brown Lands, TA 2941

 

Flight

Khamûl listened for sounds of pursuit, but there were none.

They reached the safety of the trees below the hill and vanished into the forests of Mirkwood. In a short time, they put several miles between themselves and Dol Guldur. It was likely their attackers were already inside the fortress.

Once they were a safe distance away, they slowed to a trot and looped around to catch the main road to Mordor. The road traveled through deep forest, thick with the webs of spiders. It would take them a day to reach the southern edge of Mirkwood, and reach the open spaces of the Brown Lands.

“Of course, this is the route they’d expect us to take. Let’s take a circuitous on the back roads instead. The map is very detailed. It shows every goat track and footpath between here and Minas Morgul.” said Sauron. 

He felt in his pocket for the map. His eyes widened. “The map is on my bed.”

“I was a ranger. I can take us across country, but it will take longer to get there. How long will our food last?” said Khamûl. 

“We didn’t bring any.” said Sauron.

Khamûl had another thought. They’d left Dol Guldur in such a rush. He’d interrupted his Master before he’d finished packing. Had anything else been left behind? What if … The color drained from his face. 

“My Lord, where are the Dwarven rings?”

Please no please no …

Sauron lifted the chain around his neck. Something jingled under his shirt. 

“I’ve kept them on my person since I first learned the White Council had met again.” he said.

 

A Holiday Mood

Khamûl expected his Master would be upset about the loss of Dol Guldur, their dwelling-place for over a thousand years, but Sauron’s mood was buoyant. “I’m going home.” he told Khamûl.

They traveled through the forest for the rest of the day. When it got too dark for the horses to see, they found a hidden place well off the road to make camp. Sauron concealed it further with enchantments.

They slept on the ground that night, wrapped in their cloaks. They didn’t light a fire. 

Khamûl took the first watch. He woke Adûnaphel before midnight, and told her to wake him in the predawn. They broke camp before it was light, and were soon back on the main road, heading south.

“It’s so hard, being cut off from any news. I know who the attackers were, but that’s all I know. I’d give anything to sit in a tavern and hear what people are saying.” said Sauron.

Shortly after sunrise, the road left the forest and entered the Brown Lands.

Midmorning, they heard hoof beats in the distance, approaching at breakneck speed. Khamûl looked for a thicket beside of the road that would conceal them.

“It’s Angmar.” said Sauron.

Angmar and Uvatha came thundering up from the south and pulled up, their horses panting and lathered with sweat.

“Change of plans. I’m returning to Mordor.” Sauron told Angmar. “Have you heard any news about the attack on Dol Guldur?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything. I was answering your summons for reinforcements.” said the Witch King.

They turned south and proceeded at a walk. Uvatha dismounted and led his horse by the reins.

Khamûl turned to Angmar. “So, did you bring any food?”

 

Running Water

A few miles later, the road went through a shallow ford. Sauron and Angmar rode through it without a pause in their conversation. Adûnaphel was right behind them. Númenorians, born and bred to ships and the sea, had no problem crossing running water. 

He saw Uvatha pause and gather himself. Then Uvatha took a deep breath and plunged in, crossing faster than the others had. He caught up with them quickly. 

Khamûl sat motionless in the saddle, staring at the running water, unable to move. The others called to him from the opposite bank.

“Khamûl, it’s six inches deep. You’re not going to drown.” said Angmar.

“Are you worried about getting splashed? It’s the same stuff you were drinking a minute ago. It’s not going to burn you.” said Adûnaphel. 

Khamûl agreed with them. He knew his fears were irrational. It didn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

Sauron watched the debate without comment, then re-crossed the stream. He pulled up beside Khamûl and gripped his arm above the elbow. Khamûl started to feel strange. Unnaturally calm. Nothing seemed very important. He realized he was staring off in the distance, unblinking.

“Ready?”

Khamûl nodded. They crossed together. When they reached the far side, Sauron released him, and the horses climbed the bank. Khamûl heard the sound of rushing water behind him. He thought of turning back to look, but decided not to.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Broken Sword Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cut off from all news, Sauron wants to stay at an Inn, but they don't have enough money.

Chapter 6 - The Broken Sword Inn  
The Brown Lands, TA 2941

 

Wet Weather

It had been wet all morning, and towards noon, the misty drizzle was turning into steady rain. Khamûl’s leg ached. He guessed it was going to rain all night.

“Let’s stay at an inn tonight.” said Sauron.

“I’d rather do what we always do, make camp and sleep on the ground.” said Angmar.

Nazgûl travel a great deal. They usually sleep rough, and often make camp in the rain. But they usually had food, bedrolls, and a change of clothes with them. 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we ran out of food. At an inn, we can buy supplies.” said Sauron.

They’d fled Dol Guldur with the clothes on their backs. They brought money, but Khamûl wished there’d been time to bring, oh, let’s say food. And blankets. And a change of clothes. 

 

Short of Funds

They came to one of the larger towns which sat at an important crossroad. Khamûl was surprised there wasn’t an inn along the road into town. He saw a few small alehouses, but that was all. 

When they came to the crossroads, Khamûl saw that the east-west road, connecting the Brown Lands with the Anduin, was the main road through town. It was wider and far more heavily traveled than the road to the Morannon. 

They made inquiries, and were directed to the Broken Sword, a respectable inn and tavern on the main road. A block off the Morannon road, Khamûl spotted a tavern sign showing a hand holding a sword hilt, with the blade in two pieces. When they arrived, they found a well-maintained establishment with stables large enough to house all their horses.

“Wait here. I’ll go in and make the arrangements.” Sauron said. He put his hand over his pocket, and his eyes widened. 

“We have a problem.”

Khamûl thought of their frantic departure. The alarm bells tolling, himself screaming, We have to leave NOW. He could almost see the gold sitting on the foot of his Master’s bed beside the map.

“Don’t tell me. The gold was left behind.” Khamûl said.

“No, I have it right here.” He pulled out a leather pouch, heavy with coins.

“The trouble is, we can’t use it here. A single gold coin represents a fortune. I didn’t think to bring any copper or silver coins, which we could have used without drawing attention to ourselves.” 

They searched their pockets and pouches. They came up with a handful of copper coins and one silver shilling. It fell short of the price of dinner and beds for all of them, and they still had five horses to feed and stable. Angmar put the coins into a leather pouch and handed it to their Master.

“I could find a traveler and rob him for you.” offered Uvatha.

“Hold that thought, it may come to that. But I want to try something else first.” said Sauron.

They rode up to the Inn, and Sauron dismounted.

“Wait here while I go in and talk to them. If nothing else, maybe I can hear some news. I’d like to know what they’re saying about the Necromancer.” said Sauron.

 

Sing For Your Supper

He started toward the entrance, then stopped and looked back.

“Adûnaphel, can you sing well enough to earn your supper?”

She nodded. He told her to take off her ring, which made her visible to the living. 

“Khamûl, you’re my bodyguard.”

Khamûl took off his cloak, which made him entirely invisible. As they approached the Broken Sword, Khamûl saw Sauron and Adûnaphel’s reflections in the window. His own reflection was absent.

Sauron and Adûnaphel went in, with Khamûl following close behind. Khamûl gripped the hilt of his sword.

A cat wandered near Khamûl. It hissed and fled the room, its tail a bottlebrush. Khamûl hoped the people they met wouldn’t react to him the same way.

They found themselves in the Inn’s common room. The kitchens must be nearby. Yeast, from bread and beer. Cabbage and onions, and roasting meat. 

Sauron greeted the landlord.

“Do you have beds for some travelers? We’d like to sleep indoors tonight, what with the rain. If you have nothing else, even the hayloft would be fine.”

“I have much finer rooms than that. You and your lady look like gentlefolk. I’m sure you’re used to the best.”

“Well, the truth is, we’re short on funds at the moment. I came in to ask, how far can we stretch a few coppers?”

He showed the landlord how much he had.

“That might buy a few dinners, but it wouldn’t put two people and their horses up for the night.”

“If you need a musician to entertain your patrons in the tavern, my wife and I would be happy to perform this evening in exchange for room and board.”

This is how you avoid calling attention to yourself, by singing in a crowded tavern? Khamûl wanted to shake him.

“You want to sing for your supper? You and everyone else. This is the third time today I’ve heard that offer. It gets tiresome pretty fast.”

 

Portrait Artist

“You’re right, I had no business suggesting it. The only singing I do is for my own enjoyment.”

Unless you count spells. And the Ainulindalë, thought Khamûl.

“What do you do for a living, then?”

“I’m a portrait painter for the gentry.” said Sauron.

“You’re really a portrait painter?”

“That’s why we’re on the road. I have a commission in Osgiliath to paint the portrait of one of the nobility there. If he likes it, he’ll give me commissions to paint the rest of his family.”

“I suppose you have paints and canvas with you?”

“No. The materials are quite expensive. They’re usually provided by the patron.”

“First you’re a singer, then you’re not. Now you’re a portrait painter, but you didn’t bring any supplies. You won’t mind me asking if you can draw?”

He put a scrap of paper on the bar, and set a stick of lead beside it. Sauron sat down at the bar and began to sketch. 

“Should I stop talking?” said the landlord.

“No, you can talk. Tell me about yourself. It helps me put your personality into the drawing.”

After a few minutes, he handed the finished drawing to the landlord, who looked at it with wonder.

“Well, if that doesn’t look more like me than I do myself. I don’t need a portrait of me, though.”

Khamûl looked outside. The rain showed no signs of letting up. If he started looking now, he thought he could find them a cave or an abandoned barn to sleep in. 

“But I’d really like a portrait of my wife. Can you do that?”

“I can. What do you say to a drawing, a life-size portrait, in return for lodging for five people, and stabling for the horses?”

The landlord considered the offer.

“Tell you what. Pay me what you can, and I’ll let you have the small room over the stables. It includes meals, plus feed and stabling for the horses. It’s more than you can afford, but in exchange for the portrait, I’ll forgive the difference.

“And just so you know, the room is nothing fancy. We use it as quarters for travelers’ servants. Our own grooms sometimes sleep there, too. It has beds for four, so one of you will have to take the floor, but at least you’ll be out of the weather.”

One question. Why five?”

“I’m traveling with my wife, so I hired three men-at-arms to escort us to Gondor.” 

Khamûl ground his teeth when Sauron introducing Adûnaphel as his wife. Khamûl considered Adûnaphel to be his. 

Adûnaphel rolled her eyes. Khamûl couldn’t guess whether she was reacting to being called a wife or being called defenseless. He remembered a time when thieves attacked her on a lonely road. She left two of them on the ground and the third running for his life.

“If you’re prosperous enough to hire men-at-arms, why did you run short of funds?” the landlord asked.

“We didn’t bring much with us because we’d made arrangements to stay in the manor house of a nobleman while I painted his portrait. I expected the fee for the painting to cover the rest of the journey to Osgiliath. But when we arrived, we found the house deserted. Apparently he had political problems and fled rather suddenly.”

“Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about. Bad luck, that.”

“He’s not the only one. Before we left, I overheard some scraps of conversation about a similar incident north of here, in Mirkwood I believe. Do you know anything about that?” asked Sauron.

“No, but something’s up. My brother-in-law has a tavern on the Anduin, and he said some soldiers passed his town through on their way to Gondor. Something about a heightened state of alert.” 

 

Stable Gossip

Once the deal was sealed, Sauron went outside into the stable yard to tell the others. While he was explaining the arrangements to Angmar, Khamûl whispered to Adûnaphel,

“When he was telling that story about being a portrait painter, for a moment I actually believed him.” said Khamûl.

“He can be very convincing. When he implied he was one of the Holy Ones, I believed that too, at first.” said Adûnaphel.

“And now?”

“I think he’s probably a Lord among the Elves who became a follower of Melkor.”

“He was a member of Melkor’s Court.” said Khamûl.

“I’ve heard him say so, but it’s hard to be sure. He makes things up.” said Adûnaphel. 

Adûnaphel was wrong. In his Master’s thoughts, Khamûl had seen Valinor and Utumno and even the Void. Khamûl figured out, even before Angmar did, that his Master was one of the Holy Ones, and one of Melkor’s captains.

Khamûl searched for a memory of Melkor seen through Sauron’s eyes. He had seen Melkor covering his Master with a cloak after he had been beaten. But why did he think it was Melkor? He never saw his face or heard him speak.

Khamûl realized that, in all the times he’d seen inside his Master’s head, he’d never seen Melkor’s face. He wondered why not. It bothered him. 

They led the horses into the stables. Dust, sweet straw, leather, but above all else, the smell of horses.

They walked around the long way to avoid the other horses stabled here, but even so, the animals moved restlessly in their stalls, rolled their eyes, and neighed loudly. Khamûl hoped no one would come to the stables to see what was upsetting their horses.

Sauron looked around to make sure he was unobserved, and collected all their rings. He said it was to make them visible, and less likely to attract attention. Khamûl hated giving up his ring, but did what he was told. 

Sauron and Adûnaphel went back into the Inn, while Angmar, Khamûl, and Uvatha got the horses settled. Uvatha didn’t like anyone else touching Rogue. Khamûl also preferred to unsaddle and groom Shadow himself. 

Angmar finished with Eclipse and began on Morroch. Both were huge animals, over sixteen hands high. They had to be. Smaller animals couldn’t have carried their masters.

After he finished with Shadow, Khamûl picked up a brush to help Angmar with Morroch. He looked around to be sure Uvatha wasn’t listening, then said in a low voice,

“When we talked to the landlord, our Master introduced Adûnaphel as his wife.”

“So?

“I didn’t like it.”

“It was just play-acting.” 

“You may not know this, but occasionally he summons her to his bed.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily believe her. She likes to brag.” Angmar said with studied casualness.

“She wasn’t bragging. She was complaining about having to do it.”

Angmar froze for a moment, then resumed brushing the sides of the horse as though nothing had happened. Khamûl was sure he’d just witnessed a white hot flare of jealousy. 

Not you too. She told me you didn’t want her. 

 

Drawing the Portrait

Once the horses were fed and watered, they crossed the stable yard to the Inn. They hung their wet cloaks on pegs and went into the Common Room.

Inside, they found their Master sitting at a small table near the fire, sketching on a small scrap of paper. Several other sketches lay discarded near the one he was working on. A plump woman with red cheeks sat opposite him. She must be the landlord’s wife, the subject of the portrait, Khamûl thought. 

Khamûl joined Adûnaphel on a bench at the back of the room. Angmar and Uvatha found chairs near them. 

The landlord came in with a rough panel of wood tucked under one arm. It was painted white, and looked like something salvaged from an interior door panel. 

The landlord stood behind Sauron, looking over his shoulder as he sketched. He leaned over and picked up the other scraps of paper and studied them. Khamûl tensed. His every instinct protested against letting a stranger get that close to him. 

“This is the one I really like. It looks the most like her.” said the landlord.

“This is it, then.”

The landlord set down the wooden panel on the table. Sauron placed the landlord’s favorite sketch beside the panel, and stacked up the others. He sat back and studied his subject for a few minutes, then picked up the lead and began to draw. He held the lead between his second and third finger.

“What happened to your hand?” asked the landlord.

“It was stupid, my own fault. Say, I bet you know everything that happens in this town.” said Sauron.

The landlord told a couple of stories about the doings of the local people.

“And how about the wider world?” he asked, as if it were just a polite question.

“Well, like I told you earlier, a few men-at-arms pass through a town near here on their way to Osgiliath. They’d been manning a small outpost on the frontier, but were suddenly recalled to Osgiliath.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think the soldiers knew either. I just saw them passing through in a hurry.” said the landlord.

The first patrons began to trickle in during the late afternoon. The Inn hadn’t begun to serve the evening meal yet, but it was possible to get a tankard of ale or a plate of bread and cheese.

Sauron was putting the finishing touches on the portrait. The landlord was still hovering over his shoulder, which didn’t seem to bother him. 

“It looks just like her, but there’s more to it. You can see how she looked as a girl.” His wife got up to look, and beamed. 

 

The Common Room

Their room and board paid for, they could relax. Sauron found a booth where they were relatively hidden, but where he could hear conversations all over the room.

A servant set a tankard in front of each of them. Another put a number of serving dishes and a stack of plates on the table. 

Everyone in the Common Room was served the same meal, bread and butter, cheese, cold meat, and ale. They had been on light rations for days, and the simple country fare, especially served in large quantities, was very welcome.

The Inn featured live music in the evening. There was a tiny stage in the corner of the room near the door. On it, a slender young man with dark hair perched on a low stool, a lute on his knee. He sang a ballad in a lyrical voice. Khamûl assumed that being a minstrel was the way he made his living. 

The singer had a tankard nearby, clearly not his first, and it was getting the better of him Every now and then he’d hit a false note or forget the words of a verse, but even so, he was a fine singer. 

After the dinner dishes were cleared away, they ordered another round. Khamûl was starting to feel the effects of the ale, and he suspected the others were, too. The music was loud, so they were able to talk without being overheard. Uvatha leaned back in his chair.

After the dishes were cleared away, they ordered another round. Khamûl was starting to feel the effects of the ale, and he suspected the others were, too. The music was loud, so they were able to talk without being overheard. Uvatha leaned back in his chair.

 

What Kind of Liar Are You

"Let's play a game. What kind of liar are you?"

Angmar looked offended. "Excuse me?"

"Which do you do more, lie to impress others, to avoid punishment, or to get out of doing something?"

"None of those, although I might conceal something I considered private."

"Adûnaphel, you were raised on court intrigue. I could see you lying while playing politics."

"Or to get out of doing something you didn't want to do." said Angmar.

"I don't do that." she protested.

"Yes, you do." said Sauron.

Adûnaphel looked hurt. "No, but I might lie to cover up something I was embarrassed about."

"Such as?" said Uvatha.

"Well, let's say you asked me how many men I'd been with. If I told you a number, it might be a bit low." Her cheeks were burning.

"Why would anyone ask, when it's notched on your belt?" observed Uvatha.

"Oh right, you just keep believing that. But what about Khamûl? I don't think he lies at all." said Adûnaphel.

"I might lie by omission, or to avoid an argument." Khamûl admitted.

"How about you, Uvatha?" asked Adûnaphel.

Uvatha laughed, his eyes merry. "I lie for sport. I don't need a reason." 

A burly-looking farmer walked into the common room and took a seat close to the stage. He never took his eyes off the young man on stage. The singer didn't notice him right away, but when he did, he flubbed more than a few notes. His song stopped completely for a moment.

He tried to start again, but gave up almost right away and ran from the room. The farmer got up and followed him. There was the sound of a tussle and some yelling. Then a door slammed and all was quiet. The other patrons in the Inn didn't seem to find the scene all that surprising.

Uvatha looked at Sauron. "It's your turn, but you're too easy."

"You exaggerate to make yourself look more powerful." said Angmar.

"You're good at bluffing." said Khamûl.

Uvatha lowered his voice. "The face you show the world is a façade, carefully crafted to appear the way you want to appear."

"You missed the big one." said Sauron.

"Which is?" asked Uvatha.

"I lie to myself. There are things I’ve done, and I tell myself they never happened." said Sauron.

“Like what?”

“It’s not open to ... “ Sauron stopped talking when the landlord came to their table.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m in kind of a bind. said the Landlord.

 

Singing in Public

“Can I take you up on your offer to sing? I’ll pay you double the usual rate.” 

“Why did the last one run off?” asked Khamûl.

“Tom? He’s always in some kind of trouble. This time, he borrowed a horse without asking. The farmer who owns it wants it back, is all. At any rate, he’s left me in the lurch. 

Khamûl was offended. He didn’t like seeing his Master addressed like an itinerant day worker. 

“What we really need are provisions for the road. If you can throw in a few blankets, we have a deal.”

Khamûl watched his Master stride across the room and mount the stage. It occurred to him that his Master would have performed for free. He loved being the center of attention. In fact, he seemed to feed on it. 

Sauron sat down and picked up the lute He played a few notes and adjusted the tuning, then began a ballad about a soldier saying goodbye to his children on the eve of battle. Adûnaphel stood behind him and sang the harmony. She had a sweet voice, high and pure. Khamûl rarely heard her sing, and he thought she was wonderful. 

The next song was about a woman who was loved and then discarded. I wonder who wrote it. It’s almost too personal to sing in public. 

When Khamûl looked around the table, he noticed Angmar watching the pair on stage and making sheep’s eyes. So much for his famous reputation for chastity. Khamûl ground his teeth. Adûnaphel is mine. Keep your hands and your eyes off of her.

The musicians returned to their table during a break. A serving maid brought another round. Sauron lifted his tankard and said,

“That was great, Addy! What shall we do for the second set?”

Adûnaphel considered. “Suppose we start with a lively number, then go to something quiet, like a love song?”

“I might have mentioned earlier, but my brother-in-law has a tavern in the next town over, The Bane of Isildur. You may have heard of it?”

“I believe I have.”

“I expect you’ll be passing through there tomorrow on your way to Osgiliath. He could use a pair of musicians like yourselves. Oh, I’m forgetting, you have a commission in Osgiliath to get to. No harm in asking, though.”

 

Sleeping Indoors

Khamûl followed the others into the night. They crossed the stable yard, pulling their hoods up against the rain, and ran through the rain to the door of the stables.

As soon as they were inside the barn, their Master gave each of them a ring. Khamûl was relieved the ring given to him was his own. No one else was trading, either. He hadn’t known Sauron knew which ring went with which Nazgûl.

At the top of a narrow staircase, they found a small room with two large beds, typical of country inns. A straw pallet had been brought in for a fifth person.

Sauron sat down on one bed, and Uvatha claimed a place in the other. Adûnaphel wasn’t expected to share a bed with the men, so she had the pallet to herself. 

“Who wants to bunk with me?” asked Sauron.

“I will.” said Khamûl.

Like all of them, Khamûl found it awkward to share a bed with their Master when they were traveling. But today he wanted to. 

Khamûl planned to get his Master talking about Melkor as he fell asleep. And if Khamûl happened to be touching him at the time, which was impossible to avoid in narrow beds like these, he would very likely see a memory with Melkor in it.

“Khamûl, you’ll bunk with Uvatha tonight.” said Angmar. 

“I’m fine with things the way they are.” said Khamûl. 

“Let me put it another way. I’m pulling rank.” said Angmar.

Khamûl fumed. Trust Angmar to pick this moment to remind the rest of them he was Sauron’s favorite. Angmar’s relationship with their Master was unique. He was more like a friend or a kinsman than a servant. Khamûl wasn’t jealous, but he chaffed at having his scheme thwarted.

Reluctantly, he climbed into bed beside Uvatha and turned his back. The straw mattress was lumpy, but he didn’t mind. It was raining hard outside. The wind rattled the shutters, fastened tight against the storm. The heat from the animals kept the stables warm. 

Khamûl listened to the breathing of the others. Their Master was asleep. Once he was out, it took a lot to wake him. Angmar, a light sleeper, was awake and restless. Uvatha was snoring. Khamûl closed his eyes and listened to the storm outside.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Fortress of Minas Morgul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron returns to Minas Morgul, a stranger to his people after his long absence.

Chapter 7 - The Fortress of Minas Morgul  
Minas Morgul, TA 2941

 

The Black Gates

Three days later, they stood before the Black Gates of the Morannon. However, Cirith Gorgor was empty and the Gates were unmanned. Since they couldn’t enter Mordor from the north, they turned west and took the road skirting the Ephel Duluth, the fence of mountains that protected Mordor. When they came to the crossroads, they turned east towards Minas Morgul.

Minas Morgul, their destination, was the only occupied fortress in Mordor. There was nowhere else they could go. Durthang and the Morannon were abandoned, and Barad-dûr had been reduced to rubble.

The road climbed into the foothills of the Ephel Duluth. They slowed the horses to a walk. A few hours later, a band of orcs passed them going the other way. Their captain bowed to the Witch King but not to their Master.

“You should know, people here don’t know you.” Angmar said to his Master. “They say prayers and make sacrifices to you, but they don’t really understand that you’re a person who will be living among them.” 

By evening, the gates of Minas Morgul came into view. Khamûl had been here before. He lived here after the first time Sauron fled Dol Guldur.

The fortress was called Minas Ithil back then, built by Gondor to control the road into Mordor. The Nazgûl had only just captured it when Khamûl arrived. From this stronghold outside the encircling mountains, they had retaken the rest of Mordor.

The portcullis was raised for them, and they rode in beneath it. Khamûl glanced at his Master. Sauron was looking around, taking it all in. 

“It’s bigger than I expected.” 

Khamûl realized his Master had never been here before. In fact, this was the first time Sauron had been in Mordor since he fell on the slopes of Orodruin almost three thousand years ago. 

Khamûl knew how attached his Master was to Mordor, and how much he missed it. It must feel good to come home. He looked again, and saw that his Master was smiling, a real smile that reached his eyes.

 

Ambitious Plans

The Council Chamber was packed. All of the Nine and half a dozen other nobles sat at the table, and their Master sat at the head, with the Witch King at his right hand. Lesser officials stood in the back of the room.

Khamûl grieved for the loss of his fortress. He was Lieutenant of Dol Guldur for over fifteen hundred years, but here in Minas Morgul, he was just another Nazgûl. He felt lost.

“What are you plans?” the Witch King asked their Master.

“As far as I know, no one outside Mordor knows I’m here. If I can keep that up, my presence won’t provoke Gondor to attack us. But I’m only going to lie low for so long. Pretty soon, Gondor will know I’m here.”

“Why is that?” Angmar asked him.

“I’m going to rebuild Barad-dûr and light the volcano.”

So much for keeping a low profile and not drawing attention to yourself. Khamûl sighed.

“Oh, and one other thing. Doesn’t Minas Morgul have a Palantir, the Ithil Stone? I’d like to see it.”

 

The Pale Moon Tavern

On their first night back, they went to the Pale Moon tavern. It had the best ale in Minas Morgul and live music most nights. Most of the Nazgûl, their Master, and several Black Númenorians arrived at the tavern in a large group.

More of them than would fit comfortably crammed into one of the larger booths. The rest pulled up chairs at the end of the table. 

The Nazgûl had a plot, and Khamûl was part of it. They were trying to get their Master drunk. For bonus points, they would get him to sing.

The Black Númenorians, who had never met Sauron before, hung back shyly. Within the next few days, in a formal ceremony, they would kneel before him, place their hands between his, and swear the oath of fealty. 

In legal terms, they were already his vassals, because the Witch King held their oaths, and he in turn swore fealty to Sauron when he received his ring. They all had.

Another thought occurred to him.

“My Lord, did you swear fealty to Lord Melkor?”

“Yes. My oath is still binding, even though he’s no longer here.” his Master said.

So technically, they were already vassals to both Sauron and Melkor. The ceremony in a few days wouldn’t change anything.

Khamûl was squeezed in between his Master on one side and Adûnaphel on the other. His knee was pressed against his Master’s. All of them had been drinking. 

The walls were decorated with murals of Sauron’s deeds during the Second Age. There was also a portrait of Melkor wearing the Iron Crown. Khamûl noticed his Master looking at it.

Then, as clearly as if it were his own memory, he saw Melkor. His black hair was as fluid a waterfall. When he laughed, his voice was like music. And on his brow, three jewels blazed like stars.

Sauron started to say something to Angmar, who was sitting on his other side. He moved, and the connection was broken. He only saw it for a moment, but the image would stay with him forever.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Celebration of Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says Yule like a fortress full of orcs, unless it's a fortress full of orcs who've had too much to drink.

Chapter 8 - The Celebration of Yule  
Minas Morgul, TA 2941

 

The Feast of Fools

It was the Winter Solstice, the first day of Yule. Ordinary work was suspended in favor of feasting, drinking, and yuletide festivities. Mordor would pretty much shut down for the next twelve days.

A huge bonfire burned in the central courtyard. Embers rode high into the air in the updraft. When the wind shifted, the smell of smoke was overpowering. Smaller bonfires and torchlight processions were everywhere. 

Inside, the Great Hall was hung with pine garlands. Their fragrance filled the air. The hall was lit with hundreds of beeswax candles. They gave off a warm yellow light, and a faint scent of honey. 

An enormous log burned in the massive fireplace at the other end of the hall. It would burn for all twelve days of Yule. Every denizen of Minas Morgul, nobles, soldiers, servants, laborers, and skilled craftsmen, were assembled there. 

After the formalities were over, the trestle tables would be set up. Dishes for the feast were already in the hall, waiting to be brought in.

At the Feast of Fools, the nobility would wait upon their own servants and slaves. When they finished, the nobles would take their places on the dais at the High Table, where the Dark Lord would wait upon them.

 

The Lord of Misrule

Khamûl watched from the side of the hall as The Witch King mounted the dais and strode toward an enormous chair used as a throne. He stood in front of it, but did not sit down.

“I have been Lord of this fortress for almost a thousand years. But today I gladly yield my place to one greater than myself.”

He stepped aside. A tall figure mounted the dais and approached the throne with long strides. He was robed in black, and a veil concealed his face.

“I give you …”

The figure threw back his hood and veil, revealing a sandy-haired young man with a toothy grin.

“The Lord of Misrule!”

The young man took his place on the throne. The Witch King set a paper crown upon his head and bowed to him. People hooted and stomped their feet. 

In the crowd, Sauron leaned over to Khamûl and whispered,

“He’s one of the stable hands. They elected him because his practical jokes are legendary.”

“The Court of Fools is now in session. I command my first victim, I mean subject, to bring me a cup of wine. And none of that swill we drink below the salt, I want the good stuff you swells keep for yourselves.” he ordered.

“Yes, my Lord.” Angmar bowed to him again and left to fulfill the command.

The next victim was an orc captain, a man of military bearing thought to be somewhat pompous. The Lord of Misrule commanded him to get down on all fours and run around like a dog, barking and growling. 

Next, he asked a serving girl to give him a kiss, although he had to settle for a chaste peck on the cheek. 

Khamûl knew that in this game, no one was exempt. All of the nobles, and particularly the Nazgûl, would be called up before the game was over. He wondered who would be next.   
Balrog

“I summon the Lord of the Rings to come forth.” 

Khamûl looked at his Master. Shall I put a stop to this? But his Master was laughing. He walked up to the dais and bowed to the Lord of Misrule, like all the other victims before him.

“I hear you’re a powerful demon who’s taken a fair form. Show us your true form.”

“Pick something else.”

“Let’s see you shape-shift into a girl. But if you can’t do it, put on a dress and wear it for the rest of the day.”

“One Balrog coming up.”

 

His True Form

When Khamûl thought back on it later, he couldn’t think of anything Sauron could have done that would have impressed his people more.

Duty discharged, Sauron left the dais and rejoined Khamûl.

“Aieee! I burned my clothes. I knew that would happen. Now I have to go change.” he said, beating at his sleeve where an ember still glowed.

Khamûl didn’t say anything. All of a sudden, he felt shy around his Master, and wouldn’t meet his eye. 

“What?” 

“I’ve never seen your true form before.” said Khamûl.

Sauron rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, you have. Wolf, serpent, monster, demon, that’s just shape-shifting. My accustomed form, the one you see every day, is my true form.”


End file.
